


Love is Like:

by WildnessBecomesYou



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, One Shot, Sappy babies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26961823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildnessBecomesYou/pseuds/WildnessBecomesYou
Summary: Love is like coffee in the morning, perfected fruit with holes carved into it, like peace beyond the threshold.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81





	Love is Like:

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about my grandparents and the things about them that made me love them, and well, the lesbians live in my head so thoroughly that they took over the train of thought. 
> 
> Enjoy the one shot :)

Mildred Ratched has never known love like this. 

Love that means coffee in the mornings:

The coffee pot sits by the fridge. It’s always two scoops of the grounds, and no matter how many times Gwendolyn drops a few grains in the gap between the counter and the fridge, she curses softly. 

Gwendolyn is better at making the coffee; Mildred’s hands don’t have the same years of practice, the same steady need for roasted caffeine. She takes her coffee with a dollop of cream and two spoons of sugar, and Gwendolyn won’t pour it until she’s satisfied with her own black coffee. 

When Mildred sleeps past Gwendolyn, she wakes to the smell of coffee drifting from their kitchen, the little sounds of slippered feet scuffling around and turning pages. She knows when she comes out, there will be a cup already waiting for her, coaster on top to keep it warm. 

If it’s warm outside, the window might be open, Gwendolyn’s feet propped up on the chair next to hers, smoking a cigarette slowly as she reads the newspaper. 

She loves when she’s the one to wake up, and Gwendolyn comes later, stumbling around in her slippered feet and cursing softly at the grounds that slip away from her. She’ll make two cups and hand one to Mildred with a kiss to the top of her head, then plop down in her own chair and watch her over the rim of the mug. 

Love that means the brown spots taken off of fruits: 

When they have lunch at home, Gwendolyn insists they have fruit with whatever else they’ve made. It’s an old habit of hers, one she says came about after her sister Claire was born. But as much as she dislikes bologna, she’ll serve it, as long as Mildred has fruit as well. 

Whether it’s peaches or apples, Gwendolyn will inspect the fruit closely, taking a little knife along with her as she turns the fruit. Any brown spot gets carved out of the flesh and tossed aside, usually into the sink. 

It leaves Mildred with a somewhat pitted but otherwise perfect fruit. 

Occasionally Gwendolyn will lose track of things, and before she can stop herself, Mildred will have apple slices or peach cubes, and Gwendolyn will stare at them for a moment before shrugging and handing them over to Mildred. 

She steals pieces of fruit off of Mildred’s plate. She doesn’t steal the sandwiches. 

But the fruit never has brown spots. 

Love that means peace:

When Mildred comes home, her muscles instantly relax. Whether the smell of food reaches her nose, or the sound of music on the record player, or the door closes behind her and she’s greeted with a kiss, the tension of the day always leaves her the moment she’s over the threshold. 

Even after nightmares, their home is a comforting place. She can hold on to Gwendolyn, and Gwendolyn will hold her back, and the nightmares will fade. Gwendolyn will place kisses to her temples, her cheek, the top of her head, her shoulder. She can depend on it. 

She can depend on reaching out and finding fingers reaching back, or an arm to tuck herself under, or a lap to lay her head in. It’s a new feeling, to be able to depend on someone.

She doesn’t want to get used to it, at first. But the longer it goes on, the more she relaxes into it, and the more she feels at home. 

Love is like coffee in the morning, perfected fruit with holes carved into it, like peace beyond the threshold.

**Author's Note:**

> Now go make yourself something warm and cuddle up under a blanket <3


End file.
